


Cheeky Business 👐😳

by murderlight



Series: Exposure Therapy 🖐💕 [3]
Category: Bleach
Genre: Affection, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sharing Clothes, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26812312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murderlight/pseuds/murderlight
Summary: Faced with a sudden obstacle in his path, Ichigo takes a chance in favour of Grimmjow's development and starts to realise his own goals.
Relationships: Grimmjow Jaegerjaques/Kurosaki Ichigo
Series: Exposure Therapy 🖐💕 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1903105
Comments: 127
Kudos: 994





	Cheeky Business 👐😳

**Author's Note:**

> As with every part of this series so far, this is dedicated to and inspired by [LivRay's amazing grimmichi art!](https://twitter.com/LivRay25/status/1297642233278140417?s=20)

Ichigo didn’t consider himself an amazing tactician, but with two victories under his belt with Grimmjow’s social development he quickly realised he needed an ongoing plan of some sort. Mostly to make sure he didn’t fuck it all up and set his progress back, but also to figure out exactly where he was going with it all. Urahara hadn’t exactly been specific, but asking him for more information felt like a mistake. Grimmjow trusted Ichigo, after all. He had to work it out on his own.

Figuring that repetition couldn’t hurt, especially now that he had permission, Ichigo promptly started holding Grimmjow’s hand.

It began with small things, like helping him up in the bunker after they’d both collapsed in a sweaty heap, bleeding and filthy in the dirt. Grimmjow had instinctively reached past Ichigo’s hand for his forearm the first time, forcing him to pull his hand back so he couldn’t grab it. Stubborn refusal had flickered across Grimmjow’s sweat-streaked face, until he shot Ichigo a challenging glance and grabbed the outstretched hand. As their palms met skin to skin, sweaty and calloused and warm, some of the annoyed tension slowly filtered out of his shoulders. He still looked suspicious as hell, but as nothing else happened he seemed to file it away as a new experience.

After that, Ichigo made it part of his daily interaction. A quick squeeze of the hand as he walked by inside the house, or a tug of his slack fingers to draw him into another room. He even introduced Grimmjow to the concept of a thumb war, which seemed to be his favourite so far. Trying desperately to break Ichigo’s bones while holding hands? Incredible. Groundbreaking. But it also hurt like hell and Grimmjow was pissy for the rest of the day whenever he lost, so they soon decided maybe that could be a special occasion activity.

With hand contact firmly in the acceptable range, Ichigo soon moved into more dangerous territory: hugs.

“What are you doing?” Grimmjow asked mistrustfully one afternoon at Urahara’s, backing away from Ichigo’s outstretched arms. “Go home already.”

“I want a goodbye hug,” Ichigo said firmly, his cheeks hot. Nobody was around to hear him say it, but the words felt weird in his mouth. Hugging people wasn’t really something he did. Yuzu and Karin, sometimes, but it was usually a case of receiving the body that launched aggressively at his chest. Initiating one himself? With a dude? Unheard of. “Come on, I don’t smell bad.”

“I know that,” Grimmjow said crossly, barely catching himself in a backhanded compliment. “I’m still hot from the springs.”

“You’re not gonna do it wrong, Grimmjow.”

“No shit! I just don’t want to. Go home, asshole.”

“I will,” Ichigo replied steadily, his arms still lifted and outstretched. “Just walk forward between my arms. I’ll do the rest.”

“Fucking hell.” Looking as wary as any wild animal approaching a possible trap, Grimmjow twitched and crept his way into the bracket of Ichigo’s arms. He actually flinched at the sensation of Ichigo’s embrace slowly closing around him. Stiff as a wooden plank, arms pinned gently to his sides, Grimmjow bore the experience with far less grace than the first time.

Nonplussed by the sudden turnaround, Ichigo pressed his temple to Grimmjow’s cheek and tried to think of what might be causing it. Was it—?

“Wait a minute,” Ichigo said, shuffling against the warm chest pressed to his own. Releasing Grimmjow, he pulled his arms in and slid them beneath his, clasping his back with a gentle squeeze. “Here, you can be on top. You’re a little taller than me, anyway.”

The effect was immediate. With his arms free and mobile, Grimmjow simply hugged him with back without a single hesitation, dropping his cheek down onto Ichigo’s shoulder like it belonged there. All the resistance left his body in a long release of tension, practically slumping him down against Ichigo in a trusting kind of slouch. Holy fuck, it was cute. Without stopping to consider if it was too far, or even kind of weird, Ichigo rubbed his cheek against Grimmjow’s hair.

Nothing happened.

“I don’t hate this,” Grimmjow muttered, his fingers flexing against Ichigo’s black uniform. “Makes me fuckin’ sleepy though.”

“Why’s that?” Ichigo chanced to ask, trying not to hold his breath.

“Mm, dunno. You’re warm, and you don’t buckle if I lean on you.” A short sigh blew hot air against Ichigo’s neck. “Feels like you’ve got me.”

“Maybe you’re tired from fighting me all afternoon,” Ichigo said, trying to control his expression so that his goofy smile wasn’t visible. “Maybe we should nap together some time.”

“One thing at a fuckin’ time, asshole. Barely dealing with this much as it is.”

“Sorry.” Rubbing Grimmjow’s back a little felt normal. Damn, hugging was actually really nice. Hugging someone as tall and strong as Grimmjow made it a lot nicer. He didn’t have to worry about accidentally mashing anyone’s face into his chest, or squeezing too tightly, or what expression should be on his face. Grimmjow’s whole face was hidden in his neck, anyway. “Anyway, I guess I should go.”

The strangest thing happened in response. Grimmjow’s arms, warm and firm around him, tightened minutely. Ichigo felt his entire heart squeeze with surprised pleasure.

_holy shit holy shit holy shit_

Giving up on calculated plans, Ichigo turned against the smooth curve of one ear and nuzzled his whole face into Grimmjow’s hair. He was one surge of affection away from doing something dumb like—like kissing his ear or something fatally stupid like that. Grimmjow wasn’t an adorable pet, no matter how instinctively he was kind of behaving like one.

Naturally, it all went to shit really quickly after that, right around the time the shop’s interior door slammed open with a hard crack of wood and a lot of cold air.

“I’m _hooooome_!” Jinta bellowed, kicking off his shoes and throwing his schoolbag inside. Grimmjow’s entire body turned to steel under Ichigo’s hands.

“Fuck—” Throwing Ichigo straight through the shoji screen separating the living room from the kitchen, Grimmjow instinctively dove at Jinta with a snarl at being caught by surprise. With a yelp of fear Jinta toppled backwards off the platform and landed amongst the shop’s dusty shelves. Horrifyingly, Grimmjow tackled him down into them.

Rubbing his head, surrounded by torn paper and splintered pieces of wood, Ichigo sighed and sat up. Well, they probably wouldn’t kill each other, but it definitely highlighted something important: Grimmjow might be getting used to skin contact with Ichigo, but that had nothing to do with reining in his instincts in safe settings.

What the hell was he supposed to do about that?  
  


* * *

  
“I’ll fucking kill those assholes,” Grimmjow fumed an hour later, stomping up the street to Ichigo’s house. “Kicking me out over a busted door and a few bruises? Good luck getting those shitty old artefacts from Las Noches without me.”

“Urahara did say you couldn’t live there anymore if you kept being a violent asshole,” Ichigo reminded him wearily. “Besides, how many times have you broken doors and bruised Jinta? There had to be a final straw somewhere.”

“It’s just who I am,” Grimmjow spat, shoulders hunched almost to his ears. “Think I’m gonna take a surprise attack out of nowhere? Bullshit. Jinta needs to toughen the fuck up.”

“He’s sixteen!”

“So? So were you when I kicked your ass across town, and you didn’t bitch about it. You got stronger.”

“Actually, I was fifteen, and coexisting with you probably shouldn’t involve having to go through gruelling training. He’s mostly a regular high school kid.”

“So?”

“So he’s annoying by default.” Ichigo felt confident he could say those things, now that he wasn’t one anymore. Besides, his sisters could teach lessons in being annoying. Seeing the house come into view, he sent a silent prayer to the chopped up Soul King’s ghostly big toe, or whatever granted wishes in the great unknown. “Anyway, like I said, you can sleep in the clinic tonight but you can’t come into the house. If you ended up hurting my sisters in any way I’d—”

“I’m not gonna hurt _them,_ ” Grimmjow said acidly. He shoved Ichigo’s shoulder so hard he had to run onto the road to keep his balance. “Your sisters are useless humans. Their threat level is zero.”

Rubbing his arm a little, Ichigo joined him back on the sidewalk with a frown. It was true, but he didn’t need to say it. Karin might have spiritual awareness but she was less than interested in developing it, and to Yuzu hollows looked like clear jello moulds that wobbled when anything touched them.

“So wait, Jinta is a threat to you? Dude, you could literally eat him for breakfast.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Grimmjow muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “He’s not a threat, he just an annoying shithead. Him, Kisuke, Tessai, even Yoruichi are always fuckin’ barging into my space, shouting shit at me and waking me up, using all the hot water, putting lemon rind in my pillow, stealing my belts, hiding behind doors to jump out at me, it’s—” Seeing Ichigo’s expression, Grimmjow cut himself off and ducked his head defensively, even turning his shoulder a little so he was angled away. “I’m _not_ soft.”

A lot of things were quickly clicking into place. Grimmjow wasn’t a wild animal acting out without provocation, they’d been practically bullying him inside the house. If he wasn’t sleeping, being spooked at every corner, people coming into his room unannounced, of course someone like him would start lashing out at everything. He’d actually been doing really well to not accidentally kill anyone. Urahara hadn’t mentioned any of it, or maybe he didn’t actually know the full extent. Lemon rind in the pillow? That one was exactly the kind of dumb shit a high schooler would do.

“You know, I’ve changed my mind. You can stay in the house tonight,” Ichigo said firmly. Reaching out, he grabbed Grimmjow’s wrist and started tugging him toward the front gate of the house. “I bet you could use a decent sleep and a good meal. My sisters might ask a lot of questions, but they won’t go into my room. Kon is in Soul Society with Rukia for a while and my dad doesn’t even surprise attack me anymore, so you’re definitely safe. C’mon.”

Ichigo felt a sudden competitive spirit fill him at the idea that he could show Urahara up by proving it wasn’t Grimmjow who was the problem, but the house. Specifically, its occupants annoying the shit out of Grimmjow. It didn’t have to be about holding hands and hugs or any of that touchy-feely business—

Behind him, Grimmjow shook his wrist free and held his hand instead.

Ichigo’s brain stalled at the sensation of rough fingers closing around the side of his palm, squeezing a little for grip. One-handed, he fumbled the gate open and walked inside, his own grip tightening in return.

Okay, so maybe he didn’t have to quit while he was ahead. Skin contact tolerance was going to be useful no matter what, right? Especially with his sisters around the house, and…he was totally making excuses, but god damn it, it was cute. Why stop? It didn’t hurt anyone.

“Your hand’s all sweaty,” Grimmjow reported as they walked down the driveway, the clang of the gate latch ringing in Ichigo’s ears. “It’s pretty gross.”

“Sorry.” Ichigo tried to let go, but Grimmjow squeezed so hard one of his knuckles cracked. “Ow! What the hell?”

“Why are you bothering with this?” The words were curt, giving nothing away. “I can go back to Las Noches any time. You protect your friends and family, dickhead, you don’t go putting them within slicing distance of my claws. I’m no fuckin’ charity case.”

“No shit.” Turning around, their hands still clasped between them, Ichigo lifted an eyebrow at the contact and quirked a small grin. “Maybe I just want to hold your hand some more. Or maybe I believe you. Urahara’s place is a madhouse anyway, and there’s always shinigami coming and going and stuff exploding. Stay with me for a while instead. You can just bring him stuff he needs and then leave.”

Grimmjow didn’t respond right away, sinking a pointy canine into his lip as he thought it over. His eyes were switching between their hands and Ichigo’s patient gaze. Ichigo resisted the urge to pull him into an unexpected hug just for the hell of it. Did he even realise how open he’d become with his reactions?

“So no more of this then? Since I’m not staying with Kisuke.” He jiggled their hands. Ichigo definitely squeezed then.

“I don’t mind continuing if you don’t. Even I’m learning new things here.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Well…” The brief urge to lie came and went. There was no harm in being honest, was there? “I think I like being someone who can touch you.”

“Feelin’ special, huh.” A tiny curve of a smile dimpled Grimmjow’s unmasked cheek. “Guess you’ve got me curious now too. Whatever, let’s keep doing it. See if you can domesticate me.”

“I’m not gonna rub your belly and feed you salmon,” Ichigo laughed, unstrapping his swords and pulling off his sandals. “And don’t ask my sisters to do it either. They’ll take photos and sell them to Aizen.”

“Fuck Aizen,” Grimmjow bitched, hopping slightly as he pulled off his leather boots. “What would he even want ‘em for?”

“Muken is probably a lonely place.” Ichigo barely ducked a swiping hand in time to keep all his hair. “Urahara totally fences for Soul Society, so he’d manage to get them down there. And didn’t he used to be a prison warden?”

“Fuckin’—what? Really?”

“I only know what Yoruichi told me,” Ichigo said, excited by the hungry interest in Grimmjow’s expression. Maybe it was his turn to gossip for once. “Let’s get showered and settled. I’ve got some sweaty hands to wash.”

Introducing Grimmjow to the family actually went surprisingly well. After convincing Grimmjow to leave his sword in the umbrella rack alongside Zangetsu, side by side in fact, they’d walked down the entrance hall and into the living room to find Isshin leaning against the dining table with his mouth wide open as Yuzu tried to throw peanuts in there from across the room. Karin wasn’t even trying, she was just hurling them directly at his head. They all stopped when they noticed Grimmjow slouched in the doorway, his brow crumpled with a hundred questions.

“An arrancar? Cool,” Karin said when Ichigo finished introductions, looking grudgingly interested. “Ururu said there was an awesome hollow at the shop sometimes.” She tossed back a peanut and chewed a little, studying Grimmjow. “I heard you bit Tessai’s dick off.”

Isshin and Yuzu both straightened to attention, though Yuzu mostly looked scandalised by the language. Isshin was looking at his own crotch.

“That’s a damn lie,” Grimmjow said flatly. “I said I’d rip it off if he kept trying to feed me raw onions.”

“Well, that’s disappointing.” Karin looked at Yuzu. “Are we having onions tonight?”

“In the curry, sure, but they’ve been slow cooking since this morning.” Tucking her hair behind her ears, Yuzu tiptoed her way over to Grimmjow’s outline. Her bright brown eyes scanned blindly over his outline, settling somewhere near his chin with determined manners. “Ichi-nii probably explained that I can’t really see or hear you like everyone else can. I do most of the cooking and cleaning, so just text me from Ichi-nii’s phone if you need anything! Or write a note on the fridge whiteboard. I check it every morning.” Fidgeting for a moment, she gave a deep, formal bow. “Welcome to our house!”

It was kind of fun to see Grimmjow so taken aback. Being bowed to with such formal respect probably freaked him right out, considering how rare it was. It was actually a little much even for Yuzu, who was probably trying to channel her excitement into productive gestures. Elbowing Grimmjow a little, Ichigo watched him start at the contact and grab Yuzu’s shoulders, hauling her back upright by force. Jostled by the motion, she gasped, but it was only surprise at not seeing it coming. She felt around her shoulder until she found the pressure of his hand, then patted it with a smile.

“I’ve never been touched by a hollow that didn’t want to kill me,” Yuzu said happily. She turned to Isshin. “Dad, can you get the guest futon out of storage and air it outside for a few hours? I packed it with lavender but it might still smell musty.”

“Now hold on a minute,” Isshin said, sifting a stray peanut out of his hair and striding toward Grimmjow. He wore the foreboding expression of an actual parent for once. “First tell me exactly what you did to be evicted from Urahara’s. I’ve heard you’re something of an untamed creature, so if you want to stay in the vicinity of my girls I need to know exactly what happened.”

Ichigo thought fast. How to soften the truth so it didn’t result in being kicked out?

“I tackled that shithead Jinta into the shop, gave him a black eye and knocked over two shelves of stale candy,” Grimmjow said without remorse, sharp teeth clenching like he was biting off the end of the sentence. “And I’d do it again.”

It sounded bad. Really bad. But strangely, Isshin’s eyebrows flew up, not down. Ichigo stepped aside as his father reached out with a hand for each of Grimmjow’s shoulders and pulled him in for a short, hard, manly hug.

“My son,” Isshin said with emotion over his shoulder, one fist clenched in his jacket. “Welcome to my home. Do you need clothes? Soap? A hairbrush? Yuzu-chan! Make him a welcome basket this instant! Ichigo, you can sleep on the futon. Let him have your bed. He’s more than earned it.”

“What?” Ichigo blurted, instinctively knocking his father away from Grimmjow’s frozen form. “Why are you rewarding him? And no! That’s my bed!”

“Shut up, Ichigo.” Isshin lifted his hands like he wanted to squash Grimmjow’s cheeks, or maybe kiss him. “He’s defending Yuzu-chan’s virtue, which is more than you’ve ever done.” His eyes were practically sparkling at Grimmjow, who looked about half a footstep from bolting. “Do you have any favourite foods? My daughter can cook anything. In the meantime, why don’t you get changed into something of Ichigo’s? Let us wash this outfit for you.”

That was how Ichigo ended up dragging Grimmjow away in disgust upstairs to his bedroom, getting back into his body and throwing open his wardrobe for inspection. Honestly, Isshin was such a fucking weirdo. It all worked out in Grimmjow’s favour, but still. What the hell was he doing, letting Isshin hug him like that? That had taken Ichigo real effort and there he was, just giving that shit away for free. Next he’d be holding hands with his sisters.

“Pick anything,” Ichigo grumped, yanking out an outfit of his own. A shower would cool him down. Grimmjow was barely paying attention, instead studying everything in the bedroom. Isshin’s old six-string guitar in the corner of the room seemed to be a highlight, and the old television sitting on the cabinet. He crept around everything with curious attention, then grabbed his pillow off the bed and sniffed it. Ichigo quirked an eyebrow. “There’s no lemon in it, I promise.”

Grimmjow threw it back down on the bed and approached the desk where Ichigo had tossed his clothes to wear. His human body hadn’t been dirty, but there was always a transference of other matter that grimed him up if he was dirty in his shinigami form. Yuzu had often said his outline was clearer when he came home without showering, so it made sense. He watched Grimmjow pick up the knit cardigan he’d grabbed out at random and sniff it.

“What do these things smell like to you?” Ichigo asked. A blue glance was slanted his way.

“Like you, I guess.” He clenched his fingers in the pale wool. “I’ll wear this. Get me some pants that’ll fit loose.”

It wasn’t worth arguing about having his clothes stolen. Ichigo sifted through his meagre collection of sweatpants and found a black pair that would do okay, threw them and left to take his own shower in his father’s ensuite. He had a strange, unsettled feeling of having lost control of the situation somewhere.

Minutes later, under the hard spray of a brutal amount of water pressure, Ichigo let it blast his brain as he thought about the decisions leading up to that moment. Grimmjow was in his house. Meeting his father and his sisters. He was going to—to eat their food and sleep under their roof, maybe even in Ichigo’s bed! Not to mention specifically picking clothes that smelled like him. Exactly what was going on? Why wasn’t he feeling the expected amount of rebellion at someone moving in on his life like that?

Ichigo was pretty sure he didn’t pity Grimmjow. There was no sad orphan vibe coming off him, and he definitely didn’t react with gratitude to the hospitality. He just seemed to take things in his stride. He was curious about Ichigo’s bedroom, sure, but the reverse would have been true too. Bedrooms were private spaces that gathered up all of a person’s nature into one room. All their interests and textures and smells and—okay, he was officially overthinking things. Grimmjow just wanted a place to sleep. The rest had been his own family being too welcoming. But was that a bad thing? Not at all.

Shutting off the water, Ichigo stepped out of the shower feeling oddly guilty. Had he been rude before?

Grimmjow was faster at showering than he was, already standing in the middle of the bedroom plucking at his sleeves when Ichigo returned. He was wearing the black sweatpants low beneath his hollow hole, their wide legs pooling over his bare feet. The cream coloured wool of his cardigan was a little stretched over Grimmjow’s chest, but the weave had enough give in it to still look comfortable. Between the folds of it, his bare chest shone with pinkish scar tissue and the obvious curve of muscle. Ichigo looked down at his own black t-shirt and maroon sweats with a critical eye.

“Guess it didn’t smell that bad,” Grimmjow said as he approached, pointing down at the futon on the bedroom floor. It was already made up with pristine white sheets and a thick red duvet. Yuzu the magician. He was frowning down between the bed and the futon. “I don’t think I’ll sleep with someone else in my room.”

“No problem, because it’ll be me sleeping with someone else in my room,” Ichigo returned, tossing his old clothes into the woven hamper near the door. “Don’t worry, I won’t bug you during the night. I’m a pretty light sleeper too, so you can relax. One time I woke up just because Karin yawned in the hallway.” Not to mention all the times Kon talked about girls in his sleep.

Grimmjow just twiddled a skein of his bangs between his fingers and seemed to think it over for a moment. Abruptly he sank down crosslegged on the futon, hunching over on his knees with a huge frown. His eyes were wide open and staring at his ankles like he’d never seen them before. When he didn’t say or do anything for almost a minute, Ichigo slowly crept over and sat opposite him, mirroring his position.

“Are you okay? I know my family is weird, but—”

“I didn’t used to be like this,” Grimmjow said in a rush, still staring at his feet. His hands were gripping his own crossed ankles by then, his knuckles turning pale with force. “I wasn’t—like this. I could be around other people. Hollows. My kind. Di-Roy and Nakeem and Shawlong and the others. My fraccion.”

Ichigo racked his memory. “I don’t know those names.”

“You wouldn’t. The other shinigami killed them the night you and I met. Anyway, that’s not the point,” Grimmjow said stubbornly. If he’d glanced up he would have seen Ichigo’s wretched expression. “What I mean is, you doing this shit for Kisuke is fine and all, but I want you to do it for me too. I think—fuck, I don’t know. I don’t want to be just me anymore.” He couldn’t seem to lift his eyes. Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, confessing that he knew he was lacking the things he used to have.

People. Connections. Affection. Trust.

“You don’t want to be alone?” Ichigo asked quietly, already knowing the answer. Scooting forward on the futon, he only stopped when their knees touched. Reaching out, knowing they never covered it in those pseudo-lessons, he smoothed his hands over the bent knees in front of his. “I’ve said this to you before, I know I have. I’m here, whenever you want me. If it’s a fight, or a conversation, or hell—even a hug, these days. It doesn’t have to be shinigami versus arrancar. It can just be Grimmjow and Ichigo.”

“Ichigo,” Grimmjow repeated. It wasn’t the first time he’d said his name, but the sound of it seemed different in the soft silence of the bedroom. Slowly, his head lifted up, up until he was looking Ichigo directly in the eyes. There was nothing certain in his expression, and his blue eyes seemed endlessly deep. “You give your shit away too easily.”

“I’m okay with that.”

The response made Grimmjow scrunch his face into a scowl, but it was short lived. Looking around the room suddenly, to its drawn curtains and soft lamplight, the cool evening of Karakura seemingly eons away, he blinked a little and exhaled a long breath.

“Guess I can try sleeping in here. Even let you have your own bed.” A small hesitation, trying hard not to look eager. “So, when’s dinner?”

It was the hopeful note in his voice that hit Ichigo square in the heart. A direct shot, made even more tender by the cautious look Grimmjow gave him, still wrapped in all of Ichigo’s softest and most comfortable clothes. Messy blue hair hanging over his brow, cheeks pinked with the hot shower and hands still bunching in the cuffs of his borrowed sweats, Grimmjow didn’t look a thing like a horrifyingly violent wild animal. Probably because he wasn’t one, as long as he was in the right setting.

“Soon,” Ichigo heard himself say, reaching up with one hand toward that heartbreakingly open expression. It wasn’t a calculation; it was instinctive, affectionate and fond. It was also caught in mild alarm before it could reach its target, with no force whatsoever.

“What are you doing?” Grimmjow asked, his grip as light as air. The eyes on his hand were uncertain, but they sure as hell weren’t vicious. Daringly, Ichigo pressed forward until his palm could cup the smooth warmth of Grimmjow’s unmasked cheek.

If anyone asked, he couldn’t really explain why he was doing it, other than the strange instinct that he wanted to touch something forbidden. Cross a boundary. Or—not a boundary, but maybe a milestone. A small, safe, warm touch to cement the conversation they’d just had. Because Ichigo wasn’t his damn instructor, like he knew anything about what made people closer to each other. But he sure was invested, and with his palm rubbing slow trails over Grimmjow’s cheek, he was treated to the sight of reluctant rebellion dawning into warm contentment. The frozen countenance of Grimmjow’s face melted into slow enjoyment, and after a moment the entire weight of his head sank deep into the cradling weight of his hand.

_holy shit_

Biting down on his own wondering delight, Ichigo watched as Grimmjow tested the give in his hand and the texture of his callouses, rubbing his cheek deeply into the strong curve of his palm. His smooth skin was burning hot, whether by residual shower heat or something else. Ichigo stared at the pink nuzzle of that cheek for far too long before he lifted his other hand, sinking it into his hair and against the hard shield of his broken mask. Grimmjow seemed to enjoy both, ducking his head and letting his grip fall away to the barest pluck of Ichigo’s sleeve.

Holding the trusting weight of Grimmjow’s entire sleepy head between his hands, watching his eyes slip closed in unashamed enjoyment of his touch, Ichigo felt himself practically vibrate with renewed purpose. Sliding his fingers through clean blue strands of hair, smelling the warm scent of Yuzu’s curry lingering its way upstairs, a futon soft and clean beneath them, Ichigo wondered if maybe what Grimmjow needed all along was simply some people who cared and a quiet place to rest.

So yeah, fuck Urahara and his demands.

Ichigo was going to steal Grimmjow right out from under him. And not because he needed him for artefacts and cataloguing items from Hueco Mundo. Just because he wanted to see more of that sleepy face clasped between his hands.

If Urahara wanted Grimmjow back, he could damn well fight for him—and lose.


End file.
